A/N: Well ive had ideas about a fic like this pretty much since I wrote Pretty When I cry (and the redux of that Pretty When You Cry) but now im graduated and a bit of a loose canon I decided to crack down and write it. Thanks to my mate Sarah, who has an account here (finally!) see her at chilloutcaptaincold for beta-ing the story! So here's some warnings for those who would like them: sexual activity (mentioned only) suicide mention, blackmail, blackmail into sex, coercion into sex, swearing. All sexual activity in this fic, is consensual, but not happily or enthusiastically, basically. Personally, I don't find it worse then Crossing the Line, but it's up to you if you want to read this or not. Please don't ever feel compelled. As per usual, I do not condone the tasteless and cruel nature of the actions in this fic, and I have done my best to portray them in a negative light.
Charlie Davis has done a lot of bad things with his life. Sleeping with William Munro doesn't even qualify in comparison. (or that's what he told himself) The air of the motel is thick and heavy and settles on his chest like a million pounds of lead. He's sitting naked on the bedside, face in his hands, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what he'd just done. He tried to rationalize it. It was a business transaction. Munro got what he wanted, and Charlie got what he wanted. Which is to say, Charlie got to what he wanted, which is Blake being let off the hook, and Munro got what he wanted, which is Charlie. Or more specifically, Charlie's body. He ran his hands over his bare thighs, trying, desperately, to calm himself before he started crying for real. He couldn't think of one way that would end well for him. He spared another glance at the sleeping man. He looks peaceful, and Charlie is envious. He wants badly to be peaceful, but supposes, that it was unlikely to happen any time soon.
It's just business rattles around in his head, as he stumbled to his clothes. It was a cheap hotel, there was no phone or way to contact the outside world. Outside, the brightly lit sign gives a disgusting yellow glow to the room. The curtains were the wrong size for the window, leaving gaps on either side for the light, allowing Charlie to see. Munro's were all neatly folded on the dresser. Charlie's were on the floor. A good metaphor for how things were turning out, he supposed. Things could be a lot worse, he tried to rationalize. At least he'd agreed to this, he thought. It didn't stop him feeling dirty, though.
He stumbled through getting his underwear on, standing in the middle of the room, and wobbling on one leg, because dear God he can't even remember how to get his underwear on. Then his pants, which he doesn't have to move. Just steps back into them where they're fallen. He doesn't have steady enough hands to fix his belt. Shirt is easy, straight over the head. He smoothed the threads with his shaking fingers. He wishes he'd brought a jacket with him. He tossed Munro another look. Perhaps in another life, he could enjoy something like this. There was a lot to like about secret relationships and late night rendezvous. But this? This was not one such thing. Perhaps in another life he could like the hands on his hips and the breathing in his ear. But not the life he was currently living. He sighed quietly, and headed for the door.
Stepping outside of the room, he took in deep breaths of the cold air, letting it hold in his lungs. He loved winter. The air outside was crisp and refreshing, the taste of hot chocolate faint on the tongue. There was also a destructive element to it he liked, driving rains and hail the size of coins that dented rooves and broke windows as well as barren grounds and frozen lakes. That destructive element appeals to him more these days than it used to. He doesn't really want to think about the meaning behind such a thought.
He doesn't think he can go home. Since Matthew was fired, Lucien has treated him as coldly as the winter air. Halfway down the staircase he must stop and sit because he'd overwhelmed with loss. He didn't have to do these things he did, Lucien didn't care. But he still did because he cared. Because the blame was lumped onto his shoulders. Everything fell to him in blame. Lucien's maverick behaviors, Munro's cruelty, Lawson's sacking all of it fell squarely onto him, the weight of a million lives rest on unworthy shoulders. He sat on the stair, and took in a deep breath of the cold air, unable to continue on his shaking legs. He shut his eyes and forced his palms up against his eyes and into his eye sockets. The applied pressure on his eyeball hurt a bit, but he found he didn't mind. In fact, he rather liked it. He let out a breath of air. It was only then he realized that he'd left his shoes in the room. Fuck. He'd heard the door lock behind him, so there was no hope he could quietly go back in and get them, and he didn't want to awaken Munro, there was no way at all he could deal with that. He isn't sure what the consequences of a disruption would be, but he doesn't want to find out, either. He's never felt so alone.
He'd have to call someone to come get him. He couldn't walk home barefoot. Well he could, but it would be dangerous and it would hurt and frankly he's not even sure he can walk home. Not if this is how his body is going to act. He wants to smack his own face. You've had sex before, Charlie. This is no different. In fact, this time you're getting something from it. It doesn't help. His stomach aches, he feels dizzy. He stood, and slowly made his way down the stairs, leaning more on the railing then he would care to admit. His feet hurt on the rough concrete stairs. The gravel of the driveway bites his toes as he steps, he hadn't even thought to remember his socks either. He doesn't know if he'll ever see them again, because Munro might as well keep them forever just to hurt him. Munro is spiteful and cruel and he would even expect such behavior from him.
As he reached the street, he looked around, desperate for a phone box. Thankfully, he finds one. He's never been more grateful for a phone box in his whole life. He opened it, and went inside, leaning on the left wall while he counted his change. The price was listed on a slightly graffitied plaque; he had enough for one call, probably. He closed a fist around the body warmed coins and shut his eyes, trying to figure out who, exactly he was going to call. His shoulder aches from him putting his weight on it. Blood pumps in his ears. After all, you can't burn bridges and then expect people to come to your aid. He could call Bill, since they were meant to be on the same side. But Bill would smell the aftershave that he is sure he can feel seeping into his very pores, and he didn't want to have to explain that. Certainly, Bill would beat him to a pulp if he knew the truth, and he wasn't sure the doctor would put that pulp back together again. What about Ned? He dismisses that idea as soon as he has it. He didn't want Ned involved in this mess. Who did that leave him with? Matthew Lawson. No, too painful. Matthew was kinder to him then Lucien, knowing the whole story, but not kind enough that he would be able to tolerate being in a car with him right now. He supposed Lawson would come get him, if he asked, but he didn't think that it would be good to wake him. So, that left Mycroft Avenue, and the people there. Shit.
He loaded the machine with his coins, and dialed the number as quickly as he could. Jean was marginally more warm then Blake, so he hoped she would pick up. It was easier to talk to her. There was just something warm about her. Something that no one else had. Which wasn't to say she was kind to him. No one really was anymore, but she at least seemed to understand that most of what ended up happening was out of his hands. But she was loyal to Lucien above all others. And fair enough, he was her employer. He just wished he had someone he could turn to in these trying times.
The phone rings once. He considers just walking. It was God only knows o'clock and he didn't fancy upsetting anyone.
The phone rings twice. No one is coming. This was a waste of change. He gave into how things used to be, not how things were.
The phone is picked up.
"Dr Blake's surgery Danny speaking." He was so fucked. Out of everyone at the house, he'd hoped it wouldn't be Danny who picked up. Fuck. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's uh, it's Charlie." Pause. He doesn't know Danny very well. Only that he would side with Blake. If Danny had been here over him, then Lawson would still have a job. Danny was practically legend at the station. A name he had no hope of living up to. Dedication pride and passion all rolled into one man. As far as speaking too him, they'd had one conversation once about someone using all the hot water, and once, Charlie had made him tea.
"Where the Hell are you?" Accusatory.
"I'm calling from a phone box downtown." He's running out of time, but words come slowly. "Is there someone who could come pick me up?"
"Yeah, I'll get Blake." Danny said, finally. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." It's the biggest lie he's ever told, but he doesn't have a choice. Above all else, he wants to protect them. This time, and next time, and of course there would be a next time. There was always a next time.
"Alright. Where are you?" He gave Danny the address of the hotel, and he tactfully didn't comment on Charlie's presence at a well-known gay hangout.
From what Charlie understood, after Lawson was forcibly retired, Danny agreed to come to Ballarat as his replacement. He doesn't know him well. If at all. He returned to the hotel, and sat on the road out the front, his feet in the gutter. He doesn't mind the cold rain water washing over them, easing the sting of the gravel. It's cold out, and he doesn't have a coat, he'd left it at home. He put his hands around the opposing elbow and shut his eyes. Before he can stop it, he's crying. God he's such a mess. But he's doing the right thing, as much as it aches. As much as it burns. It's the right thing. Lucien needed him to do this. Would ask him to.
It takes Danny thirty minutes to arrive, which was ample time for Charlie to splash gutter water on his face and control his breathing. It's not ideal, but he'll shower when he gets home. He likes the idea of that, a long, hot shower. He'd scrub every trace of Munro away, at least for the night. When he was clean, he'd curl up in his own bed, and hold his own pillow and he'd sleep.
When Lucien's car pulls up, Charlie climbs into the passenger seat. The old car feels like a home in itself. Danny looked over at him. Charlie felt self-conscious suddenly. He'd been expecting Lucien, but of course the man would never, ever come pick him up. Maybe once, but not now. Not anymore. He's a ghost in his own life, haunted by his own past. And scared of his own future. Why was he looking at him like that? Surely Munro wouldn't bruise him somewhere that it could be seen, would he? God, Danny was just starring and starring and he wanted to cry a little.
"You look like shit."
That's true. He's glanced at himself briefly in a mirror before he left, and he'd seen his own reflection in the window of the phone box. His hair was messy and unwashed, his clothes rumpled, his face pale and drawn. Under his eyes there were deep smears of purple, like bruises left to heal from his chronic lack of sleep. He can't sleep. Just lies there and tries not to think about what the next day would hold. Danny pulled away from the curb onto the mostly deserted road. He drives at the speed limit, but Charlie wishes he would go fast. Part of him hopes that he loses control of the car, and it flips and crashes, and he's paralyzed for life. Then, he would never have to deal with Munro ever again, and Hell, but Lucien might even extend him some sympathies. Jean would likely send flowers. Mattie would see him at the hospital. The air is thick with awkward. He can't breathe. But Danny seems oblivious, which is just what he wanted. He seemed nice. Charlie didn't want anyone else involved in the shit storm that had become his life. He'd never forgive himself, if Munro took his sights and set them on someone else.
"Since I came to get you, I feel like I deserve a little bit of an explanation as to why you're at a gay hotel at three am. Are you seeing someone?" In theory, yes, he was seeing someone. Not the person he particularly wanted to see, true, but still a person.
"Something like that."
"Do I know them?"
"I'm not answering that."
"So it is. Is it Bill? I've always had this theory that Bill was secretly gay you know? Since he complains about it so much." He's oblivious to Charlie. Good.
"Maybe." Pause.
"What happened to your shoes?" He asked turning serious. Probably played nice to get Charlie to trust him, but he hadn't done it long enough and it just looks suspicious.
"I left them in the room. I didn't want to go back and get them."
"Right."
"Yep." If his heart gave out, and he died here and now, he'd possibly welcome it. He's never had such an awkward conversation in his life. Danny stops at traffic lights, and then looks at him.
"You smell like Munro." Charlie can't meet his eyes. This says more than anything else could have. "I mean, I know you were siding with him but I just. Does Lucien know?"
"No. And there's no reason he should.' It comes out harder and faster then he meant for it to.
"I think he should. They deserve to know who's staying in their house."
"No!" It comes as more then he expects it to. He leans forward, grabbing Danny by the lapels of his shirt. "No, you can't tell him." Danny seems shocked by this. He turns away back to the wheel to keep driving. Charlie's hands fall limp.
"Charlie he deserves to know." He does, but Charlie doesn't want him to. That was part of the deal. Blake kept his job while Munro had him. It'd been happening since Matthew was fired. This was the first time they'd met here, rather than at Munro's house. Charlie knows why. It's to further degrade whatever little pride he might have had left in his mostly hollow soul. To treat him like a common whore then throw him away. It's almost the same as usual and yet it hurts more.
"Why?" He can't even cough up a reply. He's been at this so long. His friends don't want anything to do with him. Munro would never agree to transfer him away. He has nothing left, and for what? Danny, as most people do, jumped to the worst possible answer. "Did he hurt you? Did you want to sleep with him?"
"Yes." He replied tensely, though it's not exactly true. Danny seems to pick up on that. They both have no reply. He stared resolutely out the windscreen. They keep driving. Danny pulls off the side of the road.
"If you don't tell me everything, then I will tell Blake."
"You can't."
"Then tell me."
"I can't."
"Charlie." He said, voice hard. "I don't think you telling me this is too much to ask." He looked over at him. Danny is a beautiful man. If he wasn't in this with Munro, there is every chance he would have perused Danny. He looked like a move star, with that nose, and that chin. Charlie'd always thought his face was too round for him to be a movie star, too soft around the edges. Not like Danny.
"After Matthew was…Let go, the doctor was still in strife." He said. Danny frowned visibly. He might or might not know this. Charlie doesn't know. "There was charges of corruption. Mishandling evidence. Interfering with a police investigation. Crimes with jail time and fines attached. Charges that would ruin him."
"What does thi-" Danny looked confused, a small crease appearing in his forehead.
"I'm talking." Sharp. "You wanted to know. So I'm telling you with the expectation you keep this between us. Anyway. Munro, one afternoon, comes to me, and he said something along the lines of, Charlie, if you sleep with me, then I will not charge Blake and I'll ensure that Lawson gets a good pension."
"And you did?"
"Did I have a choice?" He asked softly. "I said yes, met him at his house, and the rest is history." Danny's face has turned green. Charlie doesn't know what else there is to say. He knows Danny hates Munro as much as the next cop. He wonders what happens from here. He supposes it might be a mistake, telling him all this. He's halfway expecting to be arrested for unnatural acts when in desperation, he tries to talk him out of it. "I think of it like a business transaction. He gets what he wants. I get what I want. Everyone is happy." Danny looked at him, and his face turned to alarm.
"Charlie you're crying!" He reached up a hand to feel along his lower eyelid. He was, yes.
"Shit." Danny doesn't reply, but gives Charlie a handkerchief. Charlie wiped his face.
"You have to tell him."
"No."
"Charlie."
"No, Danny. That's one of his stipulations. Deal's off if Blake knows."
"Why?"
"Because he wants me to suffer. If I'm alone then I'm all the more likely to turn to the one person still showing me any warmth, irrespective of how things are between us. Of course if Lucien knew then it would be different."
"He won't tell."
"He can't know. This is a good deal for him."
"What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You're fraying around the edges, Charlie. You can't carry on like this." Charlie folded his hands in his lap.
"I can. And I will." Danny doesn't speak to him for the rest of the drive home. Charlie forgets to give him his handkerchief back.
That night, he lay in his bed, starring at the roof almost all night long. He quite likes the look of the sun as it shone across the roof of his room, it was pretty. Small joys, he decided. Small joys.
…
There is a change in the air the following day. He can't explain it, but there's something warm about the room. As he sits at the table with his cereal (Jean no longer includes him when she makes breakfast) Danny moves to sit next to him, eating his toast smeared with a thick layer of honey. He smells pleasant, like aftershave and cleanliness from his shower. Charlie likes that a lot. Munro always smells like overpriced cologne and sweat.
"Morning!" He said, sounding cheerful. Charlie almost choked on his juice. It's unusual for people in the house to pay attention to him. Especially when the Doctor was in the room. But they needed the money, so he still lived here. He supposed that they thought maybe the coldness would force him out. But if not here, then where would he even go? So he'd rather be here, clinging onto the last remnants of warmth then alone and scared.
"Morning." He replied, significantly less chipper. Danny doesn't seem to notice. He's got a mouthful of toast.
"Good morning, Danny." Lucien said, surprised by Charlie's replying, if his tone was anything to go by. Charlie can't explain what prompted his reply, but Danny? Now he knew, he felt safer. Like he was trust worthy. Which was, and he does know, ridiculous.
"So, I'm playing cricket today." He said, as if the white on white on white didn't give it away. "Was wondering if you wanted to come along." Lucien sips his tea with a raised eyebrow. Charlie nodded.
"Uh, yeah. I think I might." He smiled. He knows nothing about cricket, but if he was invited it would be rude to say no. Danny grinned at him. Charlie can see the pity in his eyes. It breaks his heart. But he's grateful for the change.
He sits next to Matthew at the game. It's not that he wanted to, specifically, it's just that it sort of ended up that way. To his credit, Matthew isn't cruel at all. In fact, he tolerates Charlie's questions with almost patience. It's a change Charlie doesn't know if he likes or not. But it's nice. To sit out here, in the great outdoors, watching his mate play cricket. It's odd to think that he has one of those, at least, that's what he thinks they are. Mates. He likes that a lot, actually, having someone he could look at and find their eyes full of something other than coldness.
He cheers loudest when Danny hits the winning six. He screams his throat raw with everyone else. Danny laughs with pride and when they leave for the car he listens to Danny talk the whole drive home. He loves it.
…
It's rare that Munro stays awake after engaging him. Usually he simply turned away and fell asleep, expecting Charlie to show himself to the door. But not tonight. Tonight he was awake. One on his hands had found it's way to Charlie's face, smoothing a thumb along his cheek bone. His eyes look like a deep abyss of brown, so dark in the yellow light of the outside sign that they almost look black.
"You look so much like your father." He said, softly. Charlie has to struggle to keep his face neutral, he doesn't want his father dragged into this, not now or ever. His father was something sacred, something put on a pedestal that no one was allowed to touch lest they break him. He had idolized his father, and his idealization was likely not truthful, but he can't help it. All children love their fathers. "He was so beautiful…" Munro continued, stroking him, before pulling him in for a kiss. Charlie has to fight to stop himself from gagging. Munro fell asleep soon after, hand on his face still.
It doesn't matter what good things happen to him, Charlie always finds himself paying for it. Munro was done for the night finally asleep on the bed. Charlie was bruised and bleeding. There's thick hand print bruises on both his wrists, and the back of his thighs trickle with the tiniest amount of wet blood, where apparently Munro thought striking him with a belt would be fun. The man is slowly losing control, even Charlie can see that. Power corrupts, and Munro has a hell of a lot of power over him.
He can barely force himself into getting dressed. He wants to lie on the bed and sleep, sleep, sleep. But when he gets into bed, all he can do is state at the roof until he passes out into dreamless, restless sleep, or the sun rises and he's expected at work. He's careful not to forget his shoes this time. He'll have to walk home, he can't risk Danny getting involved in this.
He carefully put his underwear back on. It's uncomfortable and he will probably have to throw them out. He wished Munro had been more careful. His pants follow. He liked these pants a lot. They were a sort of tan colour, which was quite flattering, and very comfortable, which he liked even better. His shirt is in the bathroom somewhere, in the empty tub. It's a good shirt as well. He brought his jacket and shoes this time. The plaid one he used in the winter months. It's thick and warm. He doesn't bother putting on socks before he leaves the building.
The walk home will take him thirty five minutes, at his count. Or perhaps it would have, if Danny Parks wasn't sitting across the road in a car. Charlie tossed one more glance at the hotel, and then jogged to the car.
"What the Hell are you doing here?"
"What the Hell do you think? I'm picking you up."
"You followed me?!" He can't decide if he's offended or grateful.
"You are not walking home at three am in this state."
"This state?" He's offended.
"Charlie even I can see there's something not right in your head right now so just sit and take a breath." He does, taking a deep breath in through his nose and letting it out. If Munro saw Danny here then it would all be over. He'd be done for. Blake would be done for. Charlie can't breathe.
Danny starts to drive. Closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, he managed to get himself back under control. Munro was asleep. He didn't see Danny. They were safe for the night. Charlie looked at his profile again, and feels a rush of warmth deep in his heart. He likes Danny a lot. Which meant he'd have to cut it off. Because there was no way that he could let Munro know he had something. If he knew, he'd just try and take it.
"You can't do this ever again."
"Why?"
"Because if he sees you, then he'll have you."
"How?"
"I don't know. He probably has something. He has something on everyone." Pause. "Or he'll turn you against me."
"He couldn't do that." Danny said, firmly. Charlie looked over to him. Over the last few days, Danny had been his champion. When Blake or Jean said something against him, or Jean didn't set a place for him at the table, or Lucien chided him on some nitty gritty table mannerism, Danny defended him. Or set him a place. Or, on one occasion, just sat with him for an hour in silence, before swearing that he would find a way out of this. Charlie wished, so badly, that there was a way out of this. There wasn't. Not now. Not ever.
"Why do you care?" He asked, Danny had nothing to gain from befriending him. He had everything to lose.
"Because I like you." Charlie looked at him and has to wipe his eyes.
"Why? There's nothing to like about me. You don't even know me."
"I know your reputation. You seem like good guy. I don't like seeing people suffer." Charlie looked at the oncoming road illuminated by the head lights on the car. He's suddenly crying, because a man who is almost a total stranger to him is treating him with so much pity tinged kindness that it physically burns him. He wants to protect him. Now and forever.
And he knows the only way to do that is to end the friendship, even know, in its first blossom. Nip it in the bud before it grows any bigger and he forgets how it hurts to lose someone you care about. Before Munro takes him away. Before the doctor convinces him to hate him. He has to. He let in and out a deep breath of air. It tastes of the hot air and saltiness that people associate with sadness.
"We can't be mates, Danny."
"What are you talking about?" He knows damn well what Charlie is talking about. He knows damn well that Munro will take take take until Charlie has nothing because Danny is a something and Charlie can't stand to lose anything else.
"You can't be my friend. I won't allow it."
"I don't think it's really your choice who I'm friends with."
"I'm trying to protect you."
"Nope, sorry. When I'm someone's mate then I'm in it for the long haul." This is blatantly untrue, but Charlie hasn't the heart to say anything about it. Maybe he should just enjoy it while it lasted.
When the pulled up the driveway, Danny put a hand over his, which was picking at his cuticles.
"I mean it, Charlie."
"I know, Danny. Which it's hard to tell you to go."
"I won't. I'll talk to Mattie. She'll have an idea."
"No, Danny, don't. Please don't." He paused, and turned to face Charlie with the movie star face. He was wasted as a copper.
"I want to help you."
"No one can help me." And even if they could, why would they? He has a cross of a million pounds to carry on his own aching shoulders.
"I refuse to believe that." He smiled sadly, and opened his door. Lucien is still working when he goes in. He offers Danny a drink. He gives Charlie a once over then looks away. His stomach swirls so badly that he has to go to the upstairs bathroom and be ill, he can taste Munro's kiss in his mouth, behind his tonsils.
Mattie stand in the doorway when he finally gets his head out of the toilet.
"You look quite green."
"Always observant, Miss O'Brian." He said, wiping his damp forehead on his sleeve. He wiped his face with toilet paper, mostly out of habit. All that he'd had in him was bile, thick and sticky and resting at the bottom of the toilet bowl. She walked over and sat next to him on the floor.
"You look like shit lately."
"It's been a long few months."
"Well I haven't really made it easy for you."
"You haven't been cruel."
"True."
"Just keep things how they were, Mattie. It's easier."
"Danny think's that you're worth it."
"Danny is stubborn and…" He paused. "Perfectly lovely."
"He is." She agreed, "In the worst way possible."
"True." Charlie agreed, and he leaned his head back on the bathtub. Mattie sat with him for a while, before she went back to her room. Eventually, Charlie too went to his room. Shockingly, he was able to fall asleep, and have a dreamless sleep, after deciding that he'd protect Danny till the ends of the Earth if he could.
…
It takes three rings for Danny to pick up. The receiver is slippery in his bloody hand, and it threatens to fall to the ground.
"Hello?" Danny, oh Danny. He has such a sweet voice. Charlie loves listening to him talk. He could let the man talk at him for hours and he'd like it. He doesn't know if it's truly that he likes or if he's just lonely, but irrespective, he likes Danny a lot.
"It's me."
"You're early." Pause. He enjoys those last few seconds of warmth. He'll lose them now, he's sure of it.
"I think you should come arrest me."
"What? Charlie? What have you done?"
"He won't hurt me. Never again." He hung up after that, and went back, on woozy feet to his room, where he sat on the bed until Danny showed up.
Up the stairs, he could hear the pounding of feet.
"Charlie? Charlie!" He said, stopping at the door and looking in. His eyes first fell on William Munro, dead in a pool of his own blood, the bloody kitchen knife a few feet away from him. His body was all twisted up, his feet pointed left, his stomach was down and his arm outstretched like he was trying to get away. Charlie has a smear of blood on his left cheek, this much he knows.
He looked dead.
Danny looked over at him, and immediately started to pull off his jumper. Right away, he wrapped it around Charlie's bleeding forearms, where he'd been cut by the knife.
"You're bleeding."
"I didn't notice."
"Oh my God." Danny pulled him up and away from the body. "We need to get you to the doctor." He said, leading him to the car, "I'll call the others from the station."
…
The doctor patched up his arms in silence. Thankfully, only two of the cuts in question needed stiches. Charlie doesn't know what to say to him, if there even anything was to say. Lucien slowly wrapped his forearm in gauze. He stopped at his wrist and clipped it closed to stop it falling off. He'd also been kind enough to bring Charlie some clothes to change into, as his current ones were considered evidence now.
"Danny told me everything." It hangs in the air, thick and heavy and pressing on his chest like a weight of a million bricks.
"I told him not to."
"I know." Lucien replied, "But I'm glad he did." Charlie has nothing to say in reply to that, if there even was anything to be said. He placed his bandaged arms in his lap, and looked down. "Why?"
"Because I wanted to protect you."
"Even after everything I said?"
"I deserved it."
"No. You didn't. You never did." Charlie sighed softly, and pressed his palms up against his eye sockets until it hurt. The pressure felt good. A welcome change of feeling. Lucien grabbed both his wrists and pulled them away, catching them in a single hand. "Charlie, I mean it. What he was doing to you was wrong. How I treated you was wrong, and I will strive to never ever act like that again, I promise." Doctor Blake is excellent at telling people what they want to know this much Charlie could tell you. He doubts anything will change. He's going to prison.
"Okay. Good. Danny doesn't deserve that." He mumbled, looking away from the intense blueness of Lucien's eyes, unable to stay silent about it.
"Are you carrying any other injuries?" He sounds pained. Perhaps it's the emptiness inside him, the sort that weighs nothing and everything all at once. Lucien stood, and pulled him close, so his head was at his stomach. He can hear Lucien's heart, it's a comfort, if a cold one.
"No." It's spoken into the wool of his jumper. Lucien nods, and stays with him for a moment.
"I have to go see Bill now. He wants my report on your injuries." Charlie likes the idea of Bill being in charge. He likes Bill a lot, even if he is a bit heavy handed. Lucien hugs him before he leaves. Charlie isn't sure if he should hug back or not.
Danny arrives with breakfast, even though Charlie isn't hungry. He stood by the cell bar, holding the tray as tightly as he could.
"Why?" He sounds like someone about to give up on him, he truly does and what makes the whole thing worse is that he knows Danny. Danny has a strong moral compass, a strong heart. He doesn't believe in murder and he certainly doesn't believe in those who commit it. Charlie looked up. Blood has come through and stained his arm bandages, he noticed. He looked Danny straight in the eye.
"He changed the terms."
"To what?"
"To include you." Danny doesn't say anything, just waits for elaboration. "He told me in order to keep Blake out of trouble, then I'd have to get you to join him in a deal like mine. And I wouldn't have that. I don't care about what he does to me, but you?" Charlie shook his head. "I love you." Danny's face is damp and he set the tray on the floor, reaching between the bars to take Charlie's hand. Charlie allowed him to. He pressed it to his forehead, for a moment.
"I love you too, mate." He promised. "What happened? Please. Tell me."
"He said, I want the Parks boy. I saw red. I think I lunged at him. We fought, of course, and at some point, he got the knife, and I tried to block with my forearms. Eventually I wrestled the knife from him, and…" He shrugged. "Suddenly I was the one with the power. You know what they say about power corrupting? I can see why that happens. But that doesn't matter. He won't hurt anyone anymore." Danny nodded understandingly, and released his hand. Charlie let him go. When he was gone, Charlie sat cross legged on the bed, staring over at the metal toilet bowl. He'd already been interviewed, he'd said his piece. Whatever happened now, he decided, he was going to leave in God's hands.
Lucien is there when Bill comes to read the charges. He arrived a few moments before, and found his way to the cell to stand by both it, and Charlie. Charlie stood and made his way to stand by the bars, not that it really mattered to him. Prison seemed almost like a treat, compared to the existence he was living.
"Sergeant Charles Davis. Formally, you're not being charged. All the evidence we have points to self defense. But we do have to let you go as a member of the force without a pension. I'm sorry."
"I'd make a shit cop now anyway." He said, softly. Lucien reached out and took his hand tightly. It felt good. Felt like the old days.
"Do you have somewhere you can stay, we may have further questions."
"With me." Lucien said, quickly, "He still lives with me. And you have further questions you can contact me and I'll give you the contact details of his lawyer." Charlie wasn't aware he had a lawyer. It feels weird, to have Lucien defending him like this. He'd gotten used to the distant silence. Bill nods, and allows them to pass. Lucien has an arm firmly around his shoulders as they pass through the hall. It feels heavy. He wants to ask him to let go because this is too much.
Danny joins them outside. He gives Charlie a smile as bright and as blinding as the sun. Charlie smiles back. No one even mentions that he's crying. Again.